Asps (cobras) have a unique skill;
rare hood threatens enemies.
Intimidation, the goal,
rising up, their ground they’ve stood.
Warning grasped
rasping heard.
Cobra’s hasp
clasps fear's eyes
as foes gasp.
The scuffling duo sparred in the park
Their screams and shouts so very marked
A bag was clutched in the woman's hand
A man had grabbed it while he harangued
"Let go!" He shrilled and tugged it more
"Tis mine, not yours!" The woman swore
The strap tore his hand, he released his grip
The woman fell back in one mighty trip
Another spoke out with voice strong and stern
"It belongs to her, so it must be returned."
The other placated the poor fallen lass
He showed her the bag with gold coloured hasp
The woman leapt up, grabbed the bag and was gone
"It belonged to my wife." Said the man all forlorn
"Oh I'm sorry." Said the other, watching her go
Laughing and jeering, bag firmly in tow
She headed toward a blue, murky pond
The path, alongside, was slippy beyond
Now her footing was lost to the slime and the mud
As she sallied forth into furthermore sludge
The man strode swiftly to view her demise
With a duck on her head holding its prize
The little red bag was firm in its beak
So the man took it back and the duck said quack quack.
Your presence
is a fluttering in the throb of my pulse.
Our wide-open eyes collide
with a zealous sexual urgency.
Your body heat
swirls beneath my skin
as we wrestle with fierce passions.
We are clasped in the hasp
of a thankful ardor,
saturated and pulled
with pleasure-trussed
stirrings.
That was then;
that was when young people
were not so young.
Now I take my ese
watch songbirds
come to the garden feeder,
count sparrows
as they bathe in a glittering puddle.
There are many paths to arousal,
nowadays I take the slow way,
hold your aging hand
enjoying the love-making
of this year’s youthful squirrels
as they chase each other
in the trembling tee-tops.
The evening arrives gently
ushers us to rest
within those timeless arms
that the well acquainted
always have for each other.
Yes, the full bloom is pretty
all that culmination just short of perfection,
that opening,
a hasp and harbor for light and warmth
a wide-eyed blossoming
raised up in a blind glory
of transient dominion.
Yet the withering is more lovely to me,
less beautiful,
more graceful than appearance.
The grace arrives just beyond the apogee
as when a high wave reaches its crest
then grace rides ahead of that decline
ahead of any loss or sorrow
it looks not to what was
nor does it seek a tomorrow.
That soft hollowing into the brittle arms
of bodiless ghosts
is a prayer for the ages
but not cut flowers in a vase, no
they die in a fetid wallow
and it is our love of beauty,
our grasping at that splendor
that curses their death.
What is lockable is the rapacious,
the blood scratched door,
an already gaping mail box.
What can be opened is the plunder,
the clasp that cracks.
We need keys
for the iron hasp of blood,
a skeleton to pick open
the red mouths of jugular jaws,
to break apart the deadbolts,
the chain-linked sorrows
of dead-end days.
You return with tears in your eyes, a child again
Whom was fed thus rattling the heart in the womb then
This day's clothing has vanished from his grasp
Otherwise, he's hunting a poor soul in his chest hasp
If you are afraid of distance, the vastness is simple
Because soul-to-soul contact is a worthy wimble
Written: January 16, 2022
Peeking through the clouds occasionally
A lone star winks at me through the window
Forcing my attention away from late night TV,
Compelling me to notice it so far away, though,
Seemingly as close as the nearby streetlight
Which, of course, never flirts with me…ever
Even when it lights me to my porch at night.
Could the star be from “the twelfth of never?”
Perhaps a long-dead star, gasping final breath
Reaching out from a zillion light years away,
Before falling into a black hole called death
No light from you ever again to come my way?
So flirt with me, little star, in your final gasp—
I promise our brief affair will be a secret kept,
I will look for you when I lock the night hasp,
And think more about this speed of light concept.
Written June 14, 2021
You flutter in my pulse
like a small bird,
open wide-eyes
beneath my skin.
We are clasped in the hasp
of an opening and closing,
saturated and indentured
to pleasure-trussed
stirrings.
Hunting angels illuminate
our tongues and fingertips.
If we move too far
from each other
our flesh goes blind.
Gratitude is not enough
we endow each moment
to reverence.
Mint ripple spasm cool shrouds pulse my sprig fount
I shriek at cusp of dawn cricket hymn sheet peep
lambent cosmos vivid hues splash lilac wisps
upon my psychic visual wellspring blind float
golden petal yellow bird magnolia
I hoard as eye floss gemstone centrepiece
nirvana’s mauve lip step ladder an archway
to ecstatic rush reed clustered gateway’s hasp
inner self kaleidoscopic cartwheel swerves
sketch nightingale bone marrow spine chill belle chants
Yet the honeysuckle pastel strewn mead I
plod unveils ear worm madrigals of pure bliss.
Date submitted : 15th September 2020
Contest Title : Pick-A-Title, Vol 22- Lyric 2-
NA Poem : Divine Rhapsody
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh
Judged : 24/9/20
Poetry Contest : Second Chances for NA in Any contest during September 2020
Date submitted : 30/9/2020
Sponsor : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Poetry Soup Grammar Checker Verified
Release the hasp
Pull back the mask
The key has turned
Your face to learn
Remove the lid
Reach down amid
What’s hidden deep
—as secrets sleep
Confront the lie
The souls new stye
Wash clean the pain
With loves refrain
Commit your faith
In God remake
The time is now
—all time is now
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
From ‘The Book Of Prayers’
A window framed with memory
lets in the brightest light
Its lock and hasp long since removed
a journeyman’s delight
Casting off the millstone
the rock of age has come
As darkness hides beyond the sash
—to greet the rising sun
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
A window framed with memory
emits the brightest light
Its lock and hasp long since removed
a journeyman’s delight
Casting off the millstone
the rock of age has come
Where darkness hides beyond the sash
—inside a rising sun
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2018)
A-s-p are three high-functioning letters
And while I imagine that some might do better
Here are some ways to bring them together
At the start of a word we have aspirin and asparagus
Not to mention aspartame, aspects, and aspersions
Then there's aspire, aspirations, and asperity
And maybe even an aspirator, between you and me
Of course, if you have asp in the middle
You get asp in the end
As you'll find in clasp grasp, hasp and rasp
And it works the other way too--
Which I'm sure you can grasp
That brings to an end this discussion of asp
For more, read the Bible or Shakespeare
Or find a teacher to ask
As youth flows out with middle age,
I find it hard to turn the page.
Life deals the cards and calls our name.
We ante up, or leave the game.
Working, saving, spending, craving
If success is measured by the things we own
By glorious deeds so widely known,
Then I must fold; in shame confess,
“I've lost this hand, I've failed the test.”
Labor, scheming, planning, dreaming
The dreams of youth are so elusive,
Love and fortune, so exclusive,
Time has placed them beyond my grasp,
The lock of age is on the hasp.
Experience, yearning, study, learning
Notions in granite, supplanted anew,
Ideals, so innocent and true
That filled my adolescent thoughts,
Replaced with truth; by patience wrought.
Knowledge, growing, wisdom showing
Life is not over! Not soiled with rust!
The dawn is now! A light to trust.
My coffers fill to overflowing.
My treasures humble, still are growing.
Riches tallied, courage rallied
A home and family; sacred ground,
With spouse and children gathered 'round,
A stronghold, safe from worldly trouble.
My life's net worth has been redoubled.
Release the hasp
Pull back the mask
The key has turned
Your face to learn
Unlatch the lid
Reach down amid
What’s hidden deep
—your secret sleeps
Confront the lie
The souls new stye
Wash clean the pain
With loves refrain
Commit your faith
In God remake
The time is now
—all time is now
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
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